


oui'd oui'd

by unstable_grad



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Blow Job, College AU, Fluff, Geralt speaks Polish, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, IKEA Furniture, Inappropriate Use of Italics, Jaskier fucks everything that walks, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jaskier, Phone Sex, Recreational Drug Use, These tags, bi-disaster Geralt, dad geralt, daddi Geralt, deep-throating, drug usage, grad student Jaskier, happy 420 yall, i wrote this high, lots of hand descriptions, my brain is fucking fried, no beta we die like men, polyglot Jaskier, so much weed, this is a 420 fic, trans Lambert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unstable_grad/pseuds/unstable_grad
Summary: Jaskier, a local university graduate teaching assistant and purveyor of the open mic crowd has recently turned to selling weed on the side as a way to make up for rising late night food costs and book purchases. Their shit is good, their prices, decent, and their clientele is well...you’ll see.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 120





	oui'd oui'd

**Author's Note:**

> here's a little diddly i wrote while high instead of studying for finals. enjoy
> 
> (CW: drug usage)

There’s a sharp knock at their door on a Thursday at 5:05 PM. They have just gotten out of musical theory with thirty undergrads and worked a double this morning at the local coffee shop, and is quite frankly exhausted. The joint they’ve just rolled is losing life between their fingers, probably only a few drags left before they can cash it and toss the little nub out the window and onto their _very_ annoying downstairs neighbor's balcony. 

They heavily sigh, roll their neck and draw one last puff as the knock sounds again. 

“Alright, a minute, a minute.”

They slide off his couch and grab the henley draped over the end, pulling it over their frame and covering the intricate black and gray tattooing up and down their arms and across their chest. They saunter over to the door and flip the chain out of the slot, cracking the door to stare down two _young_ teenagers in their hallway. 

“Uh, hi,” they ask. 

“You’re Jaskier, right?” the ashen haired teen with green eyes asks. 

“Uh, yeah, what can I do you for?”

The ashen haired teen gulps before turning to their darker skinned friend. “We need an ounce.”

“An ounce!” Jaskier laughs. 

The ashen haired teen nods firmly.

“An ounce,” they repeat more ferociously.

“Little lion cub, I sell grams of weed, and I don’t sell to anyone under the age of eighteen,” Jaskier says, raking a hand through their hair. 

“We are eighteen,” the darker skinned friend finally speaks, pulling out a plastic card that states their identity. The ashen haired friend does the same. 

Freshly eighteen, Jaskier notes, but eighteen all the same. They sigh, hand back the I.D.s and open the door into their apartment. At least they won’t get arrested for serving to a minor. 

“Entre-vous, s'il vous plait,” they gesture into the apartment, stepping out of the way for the two teenagers to enter. “I’m Jaskier, as you know. And you are?”

The ashen haired teen answers, “I’m Ciri and this is Dara,” pointing to their friend, who has already collapsed on the SÖDERHAMN sectional, before sitting in a much more demure way onto the VEDBO armchair that is angled towards KALLAX bookshelves along the back of the sofa. 

“Pleasure,” Jaskier states, sinking into the sectional opposite Dara. “Y’all want anything to drink?”

Ciri nods as Dara shakes their head, before staring at their ashen haired friend with a mix of horror in their eyes. 

“Ciri, we’re not staying long,” Dara chides. 

“Y’all have never bought weed before huh,” Jaskier says with a laugh, pulling their box toward them and fishing out rolling papers, the new Sativa strain, and their trusty enby Pride Bic lighter. 

They pause taking in the (Ciri: embarrassed, Dara: slightly angry) expressions of the two teens before continuing. “Y’all ever smoke?” 

“Yes,” Dara sighs, “My old dealer moved out of state and the city prices are too high for recreational.”

“Ah,” Jaskier notes, nodding their head along. The city prices are too high for recreational weed and there’s rarely any dispensaries selling to non-medical folks. Most still choose to smoke and buy through illegal dealers, which is good for Jaskier, they surmise. 

“Hey, Google, play the baby got brat playlist on Spotify,” Jaskier calls, as they select the Sativa-Indica strain from the book and replace the Sativa. No need to kill the kids on their first try. 

“Sure Jask. Now playing,” Google responds from the far off dining room. 

Some low-fi esque song starts blaring through the small apartment and Ciri and Dara visibly relax. Jaskier prides themselves on their playlist building for any mood and their ability to change the mood with a certain song. They tear the bud apart with deft fingers, working the stem away from the flower and separating the slightly sticky herb into smaller chunks. 

“Y’all in school?” Jaskier asks, attempting to make conversation. 

“Yeah, over at U Cintra,” Ciri responds.

“Ah, college kids. What are your majors?”

“Chemical engineering for me,” Dara responds. “And Ciri’s undecided.”

Jaskier sprinkles the crushed bud into the u-shaped paper cupped between their left pointer finger and thumb. “Anything interesting?” Jaskier asks, glancing at the ashen-haired teen. 

“I like history, but veterinary sciences is kind of the thing in my family,” Ciri responds. “My dad teaches biology at Nastrog State and my grandpa runs a practice in Ortagor. My mom is a defense attorney in Vizima, so she wants me to do history cause it could go well with pre-law.”

Nastrog State has the best veterinary program this side of the Fiery Mountains and since most of the inhabitable country is this side of that mountain, that’s saying something. As for Vizima, it’s the country's capital and known for the President’s recent crackdown on crime, so these are some high expectations for such a young child. 

“Heh, my parents were both diplomats,” Jaskier states, licking the edge of the paper and sealing the joint shut. “I’m a music psychology doctoral candidate. Do what you want.”

Ciri nods sagely as Jaskier lights the joint, takes a puff and passes to Dara on their right. “Yeah, my friend is in your music theory course. That’s how we heard about all this,” Ciri gestures around them at the lushly decorated apartment before accepting the “j” from Dara. 

_Fuck_. 

Jaskier hasn’t necessarily kept it under wraps that they deals in the Mary Jane, but swore off mentioning it around their students. But the rumor mill at U Cintra is _fierce_ , so it shouldn’t be all that surprising that nearly everyone knows. 

_Guess they’ll have to be pickier who they deal to_. 

Ciri passes back to them and they continue in this fashion for a while, listening to some early Cage the Elephant song circulate in the background. The room is hazy and smoke clings in deep clouds to the drapes and the sofa, surrounding the three lounging on the IKEA furniture. 

“You’re enby?” Dara asks after a white, when Jaskier tosses them the lighter as the joint has filtered off. 

“Yeah, been out since my early twenties,” Jaskier states, stretching their arms above their head before pushing off the couch and stalking across the room into the kitchenette for three glasses of water and some snacks. 

“Why?” they ask when they return, depositing the guacamole, chips, and Goldfish onto the LISTERBY before collapsing into the couch and accepting the joint back from Ciri. They finish the last puff and turn expectantly to Dara. 

“Oh, shit, didn’t mean to pry. I mean, I am too, just not like out ‘out,’” Dara responds.

“Rad,” Jaskier says with a smile as they stub out the joint. “There’s a monthly enby open mic if you’re interested. It’s a good community and we meet on campus in the coffee house.”

“Shit, that’d be sweet,” Dara says with a laugh as they take a handful of Goldfish.

“Allies are also allowed,” Jaskier states gesturing to Ciri.

“Ha, ally, queen, I’m pan,” Ciri states, scooping an incredible amount of guac onto the chip. “But I’ll come hang.”

The conversation filters off from gender identities and sexualities to other topics like the new Tiger King special on Netflix (“Complete insanity! I thought it couldn’t get crazier and then it did!” Dara said with a laugh; “It’s like an interesting cultural commentary on classism and relationship abuse in the United States,” Ciri stated wisely); to the best way to create edibles (“Two words, my friends, weed _butter_ ,” Jaskier stressed); and finally circled back around to courses (“Yo, but why is everyone obsessed with that one basketball player?” Ciri asks, rolling her eyes. “Sweeties, his _ass_ ,” Dara and Jaskier confirm at the same time).

After almost three hours on their couch, the two buy their weed with promises to come around again and if Jaskier throws in an extra eighth, then that’s their secret.

***

Jaskier is elbow deep in frothed oat milk that just seems to have exploded all over their side of the counter in Rosemary and Thyme, when the bell above the door jingles and in steps a windstep Ciri and a _tall_ drink of water. The absolute _beefcake_ of a person behind her cannot cannot look more downright _edible_ : black leather jacket over a _sinfully_ soft-looking gray henley with ripped skinny black jeans covering _thick_ thighs and tapered down to worn motorcycle boots. The ashen hair atop that stranger's head is artfully tousled and shimmers in the light of the cafe. A deep scar bisects their left eye, which is a startling amber. 

Jaskier drops the frothed oat milk. 

“Jask!” Ciri calls, as they duck behind the counter and furiously begin wiping up the mess. 

Ciri grabs the stranger’s hand and makes her way over to the counter as Jaskier pops up from their utter embarrassing spill. They whip off their apron, push up their sleeves to reveal the tattoos, before stepping around the counter to hug their new friend. 

“This is my dad, Geralt,” Ciri says as they separate from the hug. 

_Dad?_

Jaskier usually has a thing for daddies, and this is one they will make an exception for. 

“Encantado,” Jaskier says, reaching out a hand, which Geralt kisses the back of.

Their lips are soft on Jaskier’s hand, stubble whispering over the tanned skin.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Geralt says as they straighten and give Jaskier a roguish smirk. 

“Geralt’s in town for Parent’s Weekend at Alpha Chi,” Ciri states as Jaskier takes a step back to remind themself that this is their friend’s father and Geralt, no matter how _mouthwatering_ , should be off limits.

“No mom?” Jaskier asks. 

“No,” Ciri sighs. “She’s really bummed but she’s consulting on a case and couldn’t make it.”

(Ciri’s mom is _Yennefer_ most of the time, but “Mom” when Ciri’s feeling affectionate and “that fucking witch,” when she’s not.)

“But dad is here to save the day,” Geralt says with a laugh and a shoulder nudge to their daughter. 

“Hooray for Geralt,” Jaskier all but purrs, sending a wink to the older person. 

Ciri watches the scene amused. Jaskier is known for their ability to flirt with anything that breathes and she can tell that it extends to Ciri’s own flesh and blood. 

“Can we get two of your lovely espressos to go?” Ciri asks, batting her eyelashes.

“Thank fuck, it’s not another oat milk matcha chai whatever-the-fuck I’ve been making all day,” Jaskier says with a laugh as they walk back around the counter to prep the drinks.

It takes but three minutes, Jaskier’s body moving on auto-pilot as they start up the machine, grind the beans, lock the press in place, press the plunger, and pour the piping hot shots into the small to-go cups. Ciri rattles on about all the adventures for the weekend as Jaskier doodles a dick on her cup (complete with hair, semen, and a few veins), and slyly writes their number on Geralt’s. 

They pass the cups to the two of them, hugs Ciri again, and waves them out of the shop. Geralt looks at his cup as they’re exiting and throws a glance over their shoulder. 

_Text me_ , Jaskier mouths and Geralt smirks, before slipping sunglasses over their eyes and stepping out into the sunshine. 

Not even three minutes later, Jaskier hears their phone ping from near the sink.

_Got anything going on tonight?_

***

They’ve pulled out their best Ewok hybrid, put on their best satin button down and lit one or two mellow Topo Chico candles just before Geralt swings through at 10:30 PM. Geralt is still dressed in the black jacket from before, but has traded the gray henley for a tightly stretched black shirt and _honest-to-Melitele_ leather pants. 

When Jaskier opens the door, they’re leaning against the door frame, a soft smile gracing their lips, eye twinkling. 

_Oh, Jaskier is fucking Geralt, hands down_. 

Ever the gracious host, Jaskier invites Geralt in, taking the jacket and hanging it behind the door. Geralt crosses the room and begins raking their eyes over the shelves lining the wall and at Jaskier’s impressive modern poetry collection. 

“Beer?” Jaskier calls from the kitchenette. 

“Anything stronger?”

“I’ve got a mean single-barrel bourbon or a Skelligan rum?”

Geralt crosses the room and stands opposite Jaskier in the kitchenette. “Rum’s good.”

“Need ice? Mixer?”

“Ice is fine.”

Jaskier pours two glasses of the rum, dropping an ice cube in each before handing it to the other.

“Cheers, love,” Jaskier says with a smirk. 

“Na zdrowie,” Geralt responds, clinking their tumblers together. 

They move into the living room before collapsing on the couch. Jaskier pulls out the hybrid before turning to Geralt. 

“You smoke?”

“Ah, so you’re Ciri’s dealer.”

“Guilty. How’d you know?”

“She shows up for fall break in Nastrog with the fucking most ridiculous sativa strain I’ve ever smoked—”

“She always picks Green Crack. I can’t even smoke that shit,” Jaskier says with a laugh.

“Puts me, Eskel, and Lambert on our asses for the whole night. I had to cancel classes the next day, I was still fucked up.”

Jaskier chuckles, prepping the bud to be smoked in the new bubbler they bought. 

“You sell good shit,” Geralt comments, watching the younger’s dexterous fingers separate the bud and pack the bowl.

“Yeah, got this friend, Zoltan, he grows it just outside of Sodden. Always gives me a decent cut.”

“Wait, Zoltan Chivay?” Geralt asks.

“Yeah, you know the fucker?” Jaskier asks with a laugh. 

“Yeah, never play poker with ‘im,” Geralt laughs ruefully, accepting the bubbler and lighter from Jaskier. 

Geralt lights up with a grace that makes Jaskier’s toes curl inside their socks. Jaskier has always been obsessed with hands, and the stories that crooked fingers, calluses, and palm wrinkles tell. And Geralt’s were intriguing to say the least. They gripped the elephant bubbler between their right pointer and middle fingers, gripping the mouthpiece with their thumb. The bubbler was dwarfed in the mitts that were Geralt’s hands, but they held the glass piece with dignity and severity, cradling it almost. 

Geralt flicked the Zippo lighter open with their thumb, spinning the gear to light the wick before deftly flipping over the lighter to catch the weed with the flame. A cloud of smoke went up as Geralt slammed the lighter lid shit, breathing deeply, inhaling the sweet smelling Ewok. 

Jaskier was half hard. Ok, seventy-five percent. 

Geralt exhaled and passed the bubbler to Jaskier, before leaning back, closing their eyes and blowing out the rest of the smoke. Their lips pursed around the smoke as it spilled forward covering the red, plush, bitten surface and down the front of their chest. Amber eyes blinked open before turning to Jaskier, who fumbled the lighter as they were lighting. 

Geralt’s mouth lifted into a smirk as they accepted the bubbler back. 

Now, Jaskier was fully hard.

The sexual tension was almost palatable by the time they had smoked half of the bubbler so Jaskier decided to pull out all their favorite tricks. 

“Come here,” Jaskier whispered huskily, beckoning Geralt to their side of the couch. 

Geralt shifted closer as Jaskier took another hit, holding the smoke in their mouth and crawling forward into Geralt’s lap, straddling the thick leather bound thighs and tilting Geralt’s head back. Geralt went willingly, opening their mouth as Jaskier seal their lips over the other, releasing the smoke into Geralt’s mouth. 

Jaskier went to move away, but Geralt wrapped arms around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their lips closer together, snaking their tongue into Jaskier’s mouth and dragging it across the others. Jaskier let out a low moan and ground down against Geralt, feeling Geralt’s hardness stirring even further. 

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s head and yanked their head back, before attacking their neck with bites and licks and kisses. Jaskier’s hands scrambled for purchase against Geralt’s broad chest before resting on their shoulders, tugging the other flush against Jaskier’s rapidly beating heart. Geralt circled their other hand around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their thumbs in deep enough to leave bruises the next day.

They writhed on the couch for a few more minutes before Geralt broke apart, smiling lazily up at Jaskier. 

“Bedroom?”

“Hold on,” Jaskier said with a devilish grin. “Wanna suck your cock first.”

Jaskier reached down between the two of them to work open the button holding the other’s pants together (no need for a belt, that’s how tight the pants were), before removing themself from Geralt’s lap and dragging down the zipper for the pants with their teeth. Geralt shifted, pushing the pants down to show Jaskier that there was nothing underneath. Jaskier grinned. 

“Underwear messes up the lines of the pants,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier couldn’t respond because he already had the tip of Geralt’s divine cock in their mouth, sucking the glans into their wet heat, before swirling their tongue around and pulling off with a wet squelch. 

“Fuck, Jask,” Geralt breathed. 

“That’s the idea, yes,” Jaskier grinned and resumed with gusto. 

Jaskier ran their mouth over the shaft repeatedly drawing moans and groans out of Geralt above them. Head thrown back, hands reaching for Jaskier, and eyes closed, Geralt was like a piece of Renaissance artwork above Jaskier. 

The cock in Jaskier’s mouth grew harder the longer Jaskier sucked, so they switched up their tactic and moved down to Geralt’s balls, laving their tongue over the skin and placing light kisses before resuming their assault on the shaft of Geralt’s dick. 

Jaskier decided it was time for another of their tricks, taking the cock in their mouth almost to the root before circling two fingers around the base and squeezing lightly. Jaskier then began to deepthroat Geralt’s cock, Geralt immediately reaching for Jaskier’s hair (“ _Fuuuuck baby, just like that.”_ ) and gripping and pulling the strands between those magical hands. 

Jaskier moaned as they deepthroated this magnificent cock, palming their own length through their trousers.

“Fuck, Jask, gonna come.”

Jaskier picked up speed and squeezed harder around the base as Geralt’s breaths came faster and faster, hands tightening in the auburn locks, which only spurned Jaskier on. Sucking as though their life depended on it, Jaskier pulled higher onto the cock, using more of their hand to jack Geralt off, until Geralt released with a strangled moan, a sharp tug of hair and spilled down Jaskier’s throat. 

Jaskier swallowed diligently, but a little escaped landing on their lip, which prompted Geralt to lean over and wipe it off with their thumb. Before Geralt could move away, Jaskier forced the thumb between their lips, sucking off the digit. 

“Kurwa, ja pierdolę,” Geralt moaned, pulling Jaskier into their lap and resuming a languid kiss with the other. 

***

Jaskier was feeling deeply sated later on in the evening as their come and Geralt’s cooled on their belly. Their sheets were a mess, and they probably stank of sweat and come and Melitele knows what else, but Geralt was expertly rolling a joint, some Grimes song was playing in the background, and a cup of tea was cooling on the nightstand. 

Geralt lit up the joint before passing it over to Jaskier, blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. Jaskier settled against the broader scarred chest, running their fingertips lightly over the markings, smoking the joint thoughtfully. 

“What’s on your mind?” Geralt asked.

“I don’t want to ask, but,” Jaskier gestured wordlessly to the canvas below him. 

“Fifteen years in the Kaer Morhen Secret Service. Medic,” Geralt answered gruffly, carding a hand through Jaskier’s hair. “Eskel too, also a medic.”

“And Lambert?” Jaskier asked, remembering the third brother.

“Well, uh, Lambert had just transitioned and you know,” Geralt said softly. 

_Right. The war effort was infamous for their policies that kept millions of gay and trans soldiers from serving._

“He wanted to help out with the war effort though. Did a hell of a job making chemical compounds and bombs. Just didn’t make the front lines. He’s still kind of pissed about it.”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, accepting the joint back. They took a drag before passing it back. Geralt finished the joint and discarded the stub into the ashtray on the side of the table, before sinking back into Jaskier’s embrace. Jaskier’s hand moved over Geralt’s torso and back up again, smoothing the scars and calming the other. 

It might have been the weed or the sex, but it was the first time that Jaskier felt content in a long time. 

***

***

After that night at Jaskier’s, Geralt became their texting pen pal. Academics tend to keep odd hours because of the sheer amount of things that they need to do, resulting in late night texting marathons that almost always turned to some form of sexting or video chatting. 

But when Jaskier’s dick wasn’t out and they weren’t salivating from the praise Geralt voiced their way, they learned much about the white haired older man. 

Geralt had grown up in the Blue Mountain Valley and had enlisted pretty much just out of high school. He said that he was a troublemaker and that the Redanian infantry had been quick to beat that out of him. He served for three years before going back for his degree in biology (Geralt’s adoptive father, Vesemir, was a veterinarian with a private practice, so Geralt had grown up around animals and biology was the obvious choice). 

However, Geralt fell in love with the human medicine side and turned to pre-med as he neared the end of his tenure at Oxenfurt University, enlisting as a medic in the Kaer Morhen forces with older brother, Eskel. Fifteen years into his service, he met Yennefer and after a very short courtship, found out that she was pregnant with Ciri. Geralt ended up adopting to the stay-at-home father role like a fish in water and turned his sights to academia to provide a stable income for his baby girl.

While he and Yennefer ultimately didn’t work out (“I love Yenna, and we had _great_ sex but the fighting was too much to put Ciri through. We’re much better friends.”), Geralt loved teaching and completed a Masters in Biology before doing a doctorate in veterinary sciences. He then returned to Oxenfurt U to begin teaching but ultimately was bounced all over Redania, Temeria, and Brokilon because of wanting to be close to Yennefer for Ciri. Geralt accepted a tenure position at Nastrog State as Ciri entered into high school, solidifying his roots there. 

While Geralt told Jaskier of his adventures, Jaskier responded in kind with their plans for their dissertation, updates on Ciri, and general everyday nonsense that Geralt took in stride. Jaskier was found smiling down at their phone more often than not, prompting ribs from their classmates, dissertation committee, and of course, Ciri. 

Jaskier found that they really didn’t mind it and then sent off a lewd text or three to Geralt. 

***

“Hello?”

“Look outside.”

“What,” Jaskier struggled, sitting up and waving away the haze from the bong. 

They moved to the balcony and looked down to see Geralt standing on the sidewalk. 

“Geralt, what!”

“Let me up, it’s fucking freezing out here.”

Jaskier hung up the phone before stumbling across the apartment to the intercom and buzzing in the white haired daddy. Geralt was up the stairs in record time and pushing into the doorway, kissing Jaskier soundly on the lips, weaving hands into the auburn hair. 

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier breathed out, gasping as Geralt’s tongue twirled against theirs, “What are you doing here.”

“Guest lecturing, I texted you.”

Jaskier stumbled back and whipped their phone out, noting that Geralt had texted them six hours ago about taking the train down from Nastrog for an overnight and if he could crash at Jaskier’s. 

“Uhhhh,” Jaskier said, raking a hand through their disheveled hair. “Yeah, you can stay.”

“Gee, thanks lark,” Geralt laughed, placing his bag by the door. “What disaster blew through here?” he asked, gesturing to the room around him which was covered in books, notes, instruments, and various marijuana paraphernalia.

“Fuck, my first chapter is due in two days,” Jaskier said, attempting to clean it all up.

“Have you eaten?” Geralt asked, grabbing Jaskier’s hands and stepping into their personal space, looking into their blue eyes. 

“Not since, uh what time is it?”

“Just a little after nine.”

“Two, then.”

“Alright, I’m ordering something. Any suggestions?”

“Thai?”

“Sounds good. Go shower, I got this,” Geralt said with a kiss and a shove towards the bathroom. 

_Shower, yeah shower is good_. 

Two hours later, Jaskier was sufficiently sated from the Thai, the Northern lights joint, and the calming presence of Geralt next to them on the couch. Some Erykah Badu filtered through the speaker behind them, creating a soft atmosphere in the apartment. Jaskier’s fingers flew over their keyboard, typing at lightning speed, cranking out a word count that could rival _Infinite Jest_ , while Geralt caressed their ankle with light touches and graded through biology lab worksheets. 

Jaskier slowed their typing and looked over at Geralt, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, thoroughly entranced in his student’s work. His thumb stilled on Jaskier’s ankle and he looked up, meeting Jaskier’s gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier said with a soft smile, returning to their chapter. 

_Yeah, this was nice._

***

***

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” Ciri asked them as they stood gathered around a keg at some house party. 

Jaskier had seen one too many of their students and was very much considering bouncing after this lukewarm beer and going home, putting on a Harry Styles vinyl, and smoking all of the herijuanna that Zoltan had sent as a “gift.” They also compulsively checked their phone for a text from Geralt. 

“Uh, nothing.”

“Come to Nastrog?”

“Uh, sure,” Jaskier said distractedly as they caught the eye of _another_ student. _Fucking undergrads man_.

“Yay!” Ciri yelled, spilling beer on Jaskier. “Oops!”

“Yeah, I’m out. Bye bitch,” Jaskier said, chugging the beer and sneaking out the backdoor and into the cool evening. 

***

Their apartment was the warmth that they needed as they set up their phone against a pile of books and Facetimed Geralt. The Zkittlez flowed through their veins, warming their body and setting their mind afloat. 

“Lark,” Geralt’s gruff voice answered, his bedroom dark and face only illuminated by the phone screen. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier responded. 

“You have a reason to call me?”

Jaskier sighed and smiled at the man. “Fucking missed you.”

“I miss you too baby.”

“I miss your cock, and your hands, and your fucking mouth, and fuck,” Jaskier stuttered off, growing hard against their thigh.

“Fuck Jask,” Geralt said, turning on the bedside lamp, illuminating lust blown eyes and disheveled hair. 

Jaskier let out a high pitched whine and palmed down against their cock. Geralt shifted so that Jaskier got a full look at their sculpted chest and lowly situated sleeping pants before the camera returned to Geralts’ face. Jaskier pulled out their length, slicked up their hand up a generous lick and gripped the shaft, collecting a bead of pre on their thumb. 

Geralt shifted and Jaskier could tell that he had shed his pants and also was reaching for his gorgeous cock. Jaskier stretched in full view of the camera, jerking faster as pre leaked from the tip. They imagined bending over the end of Geralt’s bed, Geralt’s cock buried to the hilt in them, hands spreading their ass to look at the way that Jaskier’s greedy hole clenched around the thick shaft. 

“Fuck, gonna come for me baby,” Geralt moaned and Jaskier gripped their cock harder, adding in a twist at the end, bringing them closer and closer to the edge. “Come for me,” Geralt stated, gruff voice sending Jaskier over the edge.

Jaskier moaned filthily, spending all over their favorite shirt as Geralt’s eyes slid shut and his hand milked him to release. 

They both lay, panting after the frenzied release, nothing but the pleasant buzz of the call filling the room. 

“Come for Thanksgiving,” Geralt gasped finally. “Need you.”

Jaskier smiled as they brought their phone closer to their face, the indica and exhaustion of coming and dissertation writing clouding their mind.

“Of course, love,” they mumbled as they welcomed the deep sleep and Geralt’s even breathing. 

***

It wasn’t until the Wednesday before Thanksgiving (at 8 AM) that Jaskier remembered they were going to Nastrog for the break. Ciri stood bright eyed at their door, a cup of coffee in her hand, Dara, leaning against the door frame, eyes barely open. 

“What’s up lion cub?” Jaskier asked, rubbing sleep from their eyes. 

“Did you forget? Nastrog?” Ciri asked, face falling.

“Nah, just overslept,” Jaskier replied, sweeping into the apartment and pulling random objects off of the couch and table to throw into a bag. “Sorry, the place is fucked right now, my dissertation is kicking my _ass_ right now.”

They stole into their room as Ciri and Dara rooted through the stash for candy, treats, and most importantly weed. Jaskier stuffed random clothing into their overnight bag, making sure that their laptop and several _important_ books were amongst the random clothes. They packed a few condoms and some lubricant because Nastrog probably meant Geralt and Geralt meant _mind melding_ sex.

Jaskier shot Mousesack a text about covering their shifts at the coffee shop (the man had been begging for a reason not to travel home for the holidays and was willingly taking everyone’s, _ahem Jaskier’s_ , shifts) and headed into the living room. 

“Please tell me you didn’t only take Green Crack from the box,” Jaskier said, staring Ciri in her eyes.

“Maybe,” she challenged. 

Jaskier sighed and pulled out several grams of Hindu Kush, Ingrid, and Juicy Fruit, before tossing it to Dara and Ciri. 

“I’m not trying to die here,” they said before leading the other two out of the apartment and into the cold November. 

***

The drive to Nastrog took three hours meaning Jaskier spent the time alternating between napping, rolling joints, and staring out the window at the Northern landscape. While originally from Redania, Jaskier tended to stay south of Cintra for the warmer climate. Last summer, they had done research in Touissant and after having an affair with a local congressperson’s daughter, wasn’t sure if they would be allowed back. 

When they pulled into Nastrog, Ciri drove straight through Nastrog State and into the ritzy neighborhood that housed the professor’s homes. Jaskier figured that a biology professor had a decent amount of money, especially at Nastrog, but when they pulled into the circular driveway of a Tudor mansion, they felt their jaw drop. 

“Fuck, Ciri, I should be charging you _waaaay_ more,” Jaskier said as they all piled out of the car. 

“Ha, ha,” Ciri said, as the door opened to reveal the most _gorgeous_ woman that Jaskier had ever seen. 

She had raven hair and was wearing the most form fitting pant suit that Jaskier had seen ever. Her hair tumbled down her back but was held away from her face as if by magic. She had amethyst eyes ringed in a kohl liner and a unique charm resting on a satin ribbon wrapped around her throat. Everything about her exuding confidence and grace but then she took off across the lawn and tackled Ciri. 

“Mom!” Ciri gasped, throwing her arms around the lithe woman. 

The two hugged for a long time before breaking apart. Yennefer then hugged Dara just as tightly before turning to Jaskier.

“You must be Jaskier,” she said, pulling them into a hug. 

“Thank you for having me,” Jaskier said softly into her sweet smelling hair ( _lilacs and gooseberries?)_. “Your home is beautiful.”

Yennefer laughed, pulling away. “This dump is Geralt’s. Come to Vizima and I’ll show you a real palace.”

Jaskier nodded and followed the trio up the drive and into the home. 

“Ciri, are you okay if Dara bunks with you? Vesemir is coming and so is Triss so we’re a little short on guest rooms,” Yennefer asked, leading them through the stately entrance and up a curved stairwell to bedrooms above.

“Is Tissaia here?” Ciri asked. 

“She’ll be in tonight.”

“Yeah, that should be fine.”

Ciri and Dara peeled off from the group at the first door on the right and Yennefer beckoned Jaskier further down the hall to the last room on the left. 

“You’ll be in here, with Geralt,” Yennefer said, gesturing to a room with two full beds. “Sorry, you have to bunk up, but we ended up expecting more than usual.”

“That’s totally fine,” Jaskier said with a smile. “I’m sure I can find my way around.”

“Great!” Yennefer said. “Eskel and Lambert are next door, and my partner, Tissaia and I are across the hall,” she explained before leaving the room. 

Jaskier collapsed onto the bed, staring at the bed across from him. Two beds? That was kind of Yennefer, but they were not planning on sleeping separately from Geralt. 

They weren’t even planning on sleeping, truly. 

Jaskier chuckled and turned over onto their back. Well, if no sleep would be happening this evening, a nap was in order. 

_Just a little nap_. 

***

When they opened their eyes, the sun was setting through the windows, casting the room in a soft pink glow. Jaskier shot up, unwary of their surroundings, until they realized that they were at Ciri’s. 

Warm laughter and dinner smells floated down the hallway as Jaskier stretched and climbed out of the way-too-comfortable bed. They quickly changed their shirt into something more dinner appropriate and ran a hand through their hair before moving out of the room and down the stairs. 

Off the bottom of the stairs was an open family room that had numerous people milling about. Jaskier quickly saw Yennefer and Ciri standing against some bookshelves. They dodged a few people before sidling up against Ciri and accepting the red wine in her hand. 

“Nice nap?” she asked. 

“Very.”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Ciri dragged them around the room where they were introduced to Triss (Yennefer’s best friend), Vernon Roche and Ves (a lovely couple who served with Geralt), Zoltan Chivay (who gave Jaskier a big hug and snuck a gram of something into their shirt pocket “for later”), Shani (Geralt’s research assistant), Regis (an old friend of Geralt’s from elementary school), Phillipa, Margarita, and Fringilla (Yennefer’s law partners), Tissaia (Yennefer’s partner), and Barnabas-Basil (the housekeeper).

“Where’s your dad?” Jaskier asked as they stuffed their face at the buffet spread. 

“Outside, fucking around with Eskel and Lambert probably,” Ciri said with a laugh. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

They made their way through the kitchen and out onto the back patio where the flood lights illuminated a rather intense boxing match being refereed by an older man who looked slightly like Eskel (in maybe twenty years).

“Dad!” Ciri shouted across the yard, but to no avail of breaking up the fight. “Dad!”

The match evidently ended as the bodies came apart and Eskel stood victorious over Geralt’s gasping form on the ground. Jaskier was slightly worried until Geralt popped up, punching his brother in the shoulder and making his way over to Ciri, Jaskier, and Dara. 

“Lion cub!” Geralt called, sweeping Ciri into his arms and pressing a kiss to her forehead, before turning to Dara and doing the same. 

Ciri’s uncles and grandfather meandered over to the trio to say hello and give their greeting hugs as Geralt stepped up to Jaskier, crowding the younger against a broad heaving chest. 

“Hi little lark,” Geralt said with a smile, taking Jaskier’s face in his hands, sealing his lips over theirs. There was a whoop from the people behind them, but Jaskier ignored them and settled against Geralt. 

“Missed you.”

“Missed you more lark.”

***

Lambert and Eskel built a fire that rivaled any bonfire Jaskier had ever seen and all the guests dragged chairs around it settling into a comfortable position. Jaskier had fished out the gram Zoltan had given them (“Snoop’s Dream, that shit is _incredible_.”), rolled it neatly into two joints and finished with a bowl of Juicy Fruit. A Tribe Called Quest blarred over the backyard sound system (shout out to Dara for that gem) as Jaskier lit up the first joint and passed it to Geralt next to them. 

Regis told some joke to Ves and Roche; Ciri and Margarita danced off in the background; Zoltan, Eskel, Vesemir, and Lambert were already engaged in some poker; Dara laid on the dying grass, Triss braiding leaves into their hair; and Barnabas Basil refilled drinks before they were even empty. 

Jaskier reclined against Geralt, feet pressed up on a log in front of them, Geralt’s arm around their shoulder, nose against their neck. They watched the people in front of them dance around and laughed and the flames of the fire drifted off into the starry night sky. 

“I think I love you,” Geralt whispered, tightening their arms around Jaskier. 

Jaskier snuggled back and accepted the joint from Yennefer, taking another drag. Shani jumped the order and stole the joint from Jaskier before careening off to the other side of the fire. 

“I know I do,” Jaskier replied, easy, settling back against Geralt and pressing their lips to Geralt’s hand. 

  
  



End file.
